


The People You Meet While Playing Music

by JenJo



Series: 52 Short Stories in 52 Weeks [50]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Asexual Natasha Romanov, Asexual Sharon Carter, F/F, M/M, Natasha owns a bar, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-14 05:37:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9164464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenJo/pseuds/JenJo
Summary: Natasha Romanoff owns a bar.James Barnes works behind the counter of The Widow.James is becoming increasingly smitten by the man who comes in every Saturday and plays music for four hours.Sometimes, this man plays guitar. Others, the piano. Others yet, he sings.There does not seem to be an instrument that the man cannot play.Yes, James has been introduced to the man.While the Musician is confident, suave, and an extrovert; Clint Barton is clumsy, puts his foot in his mouth more often than not, and definitely an introvert.James might just be falling in love with him anyway.





	1. Prologue: Welcome to The Widow

**Author's Note:**

> Week 50: A creation myth.  
> Me: what  
> Me: what do I do for that?  
> Me: [blank for days]  
> Me: wait  
> Me: creation of an AU  
> Me: so obvious.
> 
> So I present my newest AU, which I talked about on tumblr back in November.  
> This first chapter is a prologue, setting up the future.

 

From 11.30 am until 7, The Widow is a cafe/coffee shop, with all the fittings of your everyday coffee house. Small, cosy atmosphere. Friendly staff who know you by your name. Fresh baked goods.

Once seven hits, The Widow turns into a bar. The alcohol does not get served before seven thirty. Each night, a different performance takes the stage. Some nights, it’s music. Bands, solo, the like. Other nights, poetry battles. Others still, dancers. Ballet, jazz, contemporary.

The point is, The Widow is often unpredictable. Like her owner.

Natasha was fiercely protective of her place, as well as to all who entered. Any indecent behaviour would have you kicked out without a second glance.

She protected any and all whom entered her place. 

(Unless they came in to cause trouble. Then there was no escaping her web.)

Her protective streak especially flared up each Saturday at 3pm, when Clint Barton would walk in to The Widow. 

And for the next four and a half hours, she would watch two of her friends stare at each other, without realising that the other was looking back.

It had been a chance meeting, her and Clint. She had just arrived in America, barely seventeen and running from a past she never wanted to relive. Clint seemed to be in the same situation, running away  _ from  _ a circus. Together, they had found a place for themselves in the world. 

Six years later, and Natasha had The Widow, where her word was final. Clint did not want any compensation for the work he put into the place for her; he had waved any talk of money away with a smile and a “Seeing you happy is payment enough.”

Natasha knew that she would never figure out the mystery that was Clint, and that was fine by her. A better friend she would never find. 

 

~

 

“Nat?” 

Natasha looked up from where she was wiping the bar; Sharon had come in, holding a box of soft drink.  _ I must have been even deeper in thought than I thought, if I didn’t hear the door open _ . “You brought it in by yourself?”

Sharon gave Natasha an unimpressed look. “Yes. Now, if you don’t mind, where would you like it? Because I assume that you don’t want it dropped all over the floor.”

Natasha patted a spot on the bar. “Here. I could use some help unpacking it.”

“Why’d an order even come in today?” Sharon asked as she put the box on the counter, before walking behind it to begin unpacking. “I thought orders come in on Thursdays.”

“Usually. But for whatever reason, they changed it. Don’t ask me.”

“I thought you knew all.”

Natasha paused, staring at Sharon. “Sharon.”

Sharon held up her hands, smiling at Natasha. “Sorry?”

Natasha shook her head fondly, before wrapping Sharon in a hug. “Morning.”

“Morning,” Sharon echoed, kissing Natasha on the cheek before pulling back. “You were gone before I got up.”

“Usually am on a Saturday.”

“Usually I’m awake earlier.”

“I didn’t force you to marathon an entire season in one night.”

“So worth it,” Sharon sighed, staring off into space for a moment.

Natasha patted Sharon’s cheek, before going back to packing away the order. “You are just enjoying your holidays a bit too much, I think.”

“Maybe,” Sharon agreed. “Anything else need to be done before you open?”

Natasha shook her head. “Go ahead and open.”

 

~

 

James came in at one o’clock, as he always did on a Saturday. He went straight into the office, putting his bag in the safe and jacket on the hook, before grabbing his apron and coming back out to the dining area.

“Morning Barnes,” Sharon handed James his coffee, which he took with a nod.

“Morning Carter. Still haven’t learnt to tell the time?”

“Well, you still haven’t learnt how to do your hair, so…”

James frowned at Sharon. “There is nothing wrong with my hair.”

“No, there isn’t,” Natasha appeared beside him, smiling at him. “I like the drawn back look on you.”

“Thank you Natasha,” James turned to Sharon with a smile. “My boss likes it, that’s all that matters.”

“She likes coffee in her cereal, she does not get a say.”

Natasha shrugged. “It’s convenient.”

“It is,” James agreed with a smile, before downing his coffee and handing Sharon the empty cup. “Time to work.”

“You just like trying to stir him up,” Natasha said once James was out of earshot.

Sharon nodded, turning to wash out the cup. “Can’t fight with you there babe.”

Natasha scrunched up her nose. “Ew.”

“Sweetheart?”

“Much better.”

“Okay,” Sharon looked at her watch. “I should be going. I’m meeting Maria for a late lunch.”

“Say hi to her for me, will you?”

Sharon nodded, retrieving her jacket from the office. “See you at home. James,” Sharon paused next to James, looking at him seriously. “Talk to him today, would you?”

Sharon left without waiting for James to reply. James brought over an order, and began making the coffees.

“What did she mean by that?” he asked Natasha, who shook her head.

“You know what she meant.”

James blew out a breath, focusing just a little bit more on making the coffees. “It’s nothing, Natasha. Don’t know why you all insist on talking about it like it’s something.”

Natasha rested against the bar next to James. “Just that we all think you’d be great friends.”

“We are,” James responded, before putting the coffees onto a tray and taking them to the customers.

“You speak to him once a week,” Natasha said when James returned with empty plates from another table. 

He sighed, putting the plates in the sink, before turning to Natasha with a serious expression. “Please, can we talk about something else?”

“Like what?”

“What about your love life?”

“I don’t know that I’d call it a love life,” Natasha said, moving to wash the plates. “Considering that we’re ace. But we’re great; Sharon spent all of yesterday and most of the night watching an entire season in a day.”

James shook his head. “How can someone have so much free time?”

“Holidays,” Natasha rolled her eyes, drying her hand and moving to put the plates away. “Apparently they’re a thing.”

“Not like I’d know,” James said with a smile; Natasha joined in with his laughter.


	2. 1. Say hello to the main characters.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know, you can stop staring at him anytime you want. And actually work?”  
> James shook his head, resuming cleaning the bar in preparation for tonight. “I have no idea what you mean.”  
> “Sure you don’t.” Natasha smiled knowingly

 

Today, it’s a double bass.

James watched Clint carry in the large instrument as though it weighed nothing, his other hand holding a mobile.

Clint spent five minutes setting up, taking his place on the makeshift stage which he had made his home. And as always, when three pm hit, he began playing. This week was what James thought might be a jazz theme, Clint playing as easily as James breathed . 

As often happened, Clint would receive requests throughout the four hours. He’d happily oblige, while also being able to improvise when the requests weren’t happening.

And as always, the crowd loved him. James figured the guy made plenty out of tips, even though three through to seven was far from The Widow’s  busiest time. Clint was just one of those guys whose smiles you could not resist.

James included himself in that assessment. 

Clint, while he was on the stage, was breathtaking. His mastery of the instruments was awe inspiring. Was there an instrument he could not play? If there was, James had yet to find it.

“You know,” Natasha spoke, leaning onto the counter next to him. “You  _ can  _ stop staring at him anytime you want. And actually work?”

James shook his head, resuming cleaning the bar in preparation for tonight. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“Sure you don’t.” Natasha smiled knowingly, walking away. James shook his head again, moving to start restocking the bar. 

He  _ wasn’t  _ staring, no matter what Natasha said. He was  _ admiring. Wait, no. That word was worse.  _

James sighed, resigned to having no say over his thoughts. 

While he had spent many a weekend in the place, Clint had first begun performing at The Widow three months ago. Every Saturday, 3pm to 7pm. And every week, a different instrument.

Several of the regulars had started a betting pool as to when Clint would double up on an instrument. James didn’t participate, because it was unprofessional.

(He also doubted that Clint would be doubling up anytime soon).

Clint would play for four hours, before spending half an hour on a chair, talking to James in between customers.

This was James’s favourite time; the Clint he talked to in that half an hour was practically a different person who inhabited that stage. 

As long as Clint was playing an instrument which allowed it, he would happily and easily engage in conversation.

Clint  _ after _ ? Could not string together a sentence to save his life.

He’d become tongue tied over a simple  _ how was your weekend? _

He’d look at you confused if you asked him  _ seen the latest film? _

In the three months he had known the man, James had learnt:

-Clint could play any instrument (mainly conjecture, based on evidence thus far)

-Clint had a dog, and easily (and enthusiastically) talked about his dog

-most things were either Katie, Bobbi, or Natasha’s fault. James knew who Natasha was, but not the other two.

Of course, we’re ignoring the most obvious fact:

Clint Barton was the  _ perfect  _ man for James.

“So, what instrument will you be playing next week?” James asked as he slid across a glass of lemonade.

Clint smiled wide. “Can’t tell you. You know the rules. Can’t just go bending them for anyone.”

“Oh, he’d bend the rules for you,” Natasha muttered behind James. James’s eyes widened at that, while Clint acted as though he hadn’t heard a thing. 

“Anyways,” Clint sculled his drink, pushing the empty glass back to James. “About time to be heading off.”

James looked up at the clock; 7.30. “Guess you’re right. Boss?”

Natasha waved a hand. “See you next week James, Clint.”

By the time James had collected his bag and signed off, Clint had packed up and was waiting out the front.

“Not waiting for me, are you?”

Clint shrugged, holding his case in one hand. “Figure we’re both walking the same way?”

James shook his head with a sad smile. “Sorry, I’m getting a lift from a friend.”

“Oh,” Clint looked down at his feet. 

“Do you need a lift?”

Clint shook his head as he looked back up. “Nah, I live pretty close. Not worth it.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. See you next week?”

Clint looked so  _ hopeful _ ; James imagined, if he had a mirror, he’d have the same look. 

“Yeah. Tell me what instrument you’re playing?”

Clint shook his head. “Sorry, can’t bend the rules for you.”

James waved as Clint walked off down the street, watching the man turn the corner.

“You know, if you asked nicely, I bet he’d tell you.”

James did  _ not  _ jump. He  _ turned  _ around to narrow his eyes at Natasha. “Got something to say?”

Natasha shrugged, holding out an envelope. “Only that you forgot your pay. Something more important on your mind?”

James took the envelope, putting it in his pocket. “Hilarious. Shouldn’t you be working?”

“Jess has it covered. I wanted to make sure you got your money.”

“You wanted to make me jump.”

Natasha nodded with a smile, waving to a car before returning to The Widow.

James turned to find Steve sitting there in his car.

“Hey Steve,” Bucky said as he got into the car, buckling his seatbelt.

“What did Natasha want?” Steve asked as he began driving home.

“Nothing.” James waved the envelope in his hand. “Forgot my pay, is all.”

“Oh? Was there something on your mind?”

James glared at Steve, even though the man had his eyes on the road. “You and Natasha talk too much.”

Steve laughed. “We really don’t.  _ You _ , on the other hand, do have quite the crush on a certain musician.”

James groaned, lifting his hand to cover his face. 

“You’re not doing anything to dissuade me.”

James lowered his hand, resuming his glare. “Focus on the road.”

“Yes  _ dear _ ,” Steve laughed.

James shook his head; he wouldn’t push Steve while he was driving.

When they got home though? All bets were off.

 

~~~

 

“A double bass? Really?”

Clint shook his head, bending down to greet Lucky. “Kate didn’t treat you bad, did she?”

“Funny,” Kate rolled her eyes, walking to the kitchen. “Coffee’s fresh, if you’re interested.”

“She’s asking  _ me  _ if I’m interested in coffee,” Clint said to Lucky, before standing up and following Kate to the kitchen, Lucky following him.

Kate slid the cup of coffee to him, leaning against the counter with her own mug in her hand. “So?”

Clint raised an eyebrow at Kate over the top of his coffee, but didn’t answer her.

“Did you talk to him?”

“Of course I did.” Clint rolled his eyes,  _ you  _ know  _ I talk to him.  _ “I talk to James every week.”

Kate sighed, putting down her coffee and pointing at Clint. “You are not as dumb as you act Barton. You know what I mean.”

Clint lowered his cup to the counter, took a deep breath, and looked Kate in the eye. “I waited to walk home with him.”

“And?”

Clint shook his head. “And he had a lift. Wasn’t walking.”

“Did he offer you a lift?”

Clint nodded. “Yeah.”

“Why’d you say no?”

Clint shrugged, looking down and  talking to his coffee. “Didn’t want to impose.”

“Oh Clint, it wouldn’t have been imposing.” Kate waited for Clint to look up before continuing. “Why’d you  _ really  _ say no?”

“Don’t know,” Clint said, before waving a hand. “Didn’t want to. Afraid of what I might have said.”

“Maybe he feels the same way?” Kate offered, watching the thoughts play across Clint’s face.

Clint shook his head, confident in his answer. “Nah, no way.”

“What makes you so sure?”

Clint looked down at his coffee again, shoulders dropping and his entire face falling. “When does anything ever go my way?”

Instead of answering, Kate pushed herself away from the countertop, taking Clint in one arm and picking up both of their coffees with the other. She pulled Clint over to the couch, putting their coffees on the coffee table. She then sat down with him before turning on the television.

“We’re watching some tv,” she said,  pulling a blanket up over their legs. “Maybe a trashy movie. We’ll fall asleep, despite our blood being basically caffeine at this point. We’ll wake up, feeling like crap, then drink some more coffee. But only if you promise me one thing.”

“What?”

Kate leant forward, taking a cup of coffee in each hand. She held them close to her, before speaking. “You are allowed to have things go your way.”

Clint smiled at Kate. “You always say the best things.”

“Duh, I’m the best,” Kate nodded, handing Clint back his coffee. “You choose the show.”

Clint ended up choosing some trashy reality television, and just as Kate said, they fell asleep on that couch while watching a movie. 

And maybe Clint was able to forget what he said for one night, but it didn’t change anything.

_ I  _ never  _ have things go my way.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading :)  
> Let me know what you thought


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